


upon my skin

by majorshipper



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: AU, CS AU Month, Drama, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-19
Updated: 2017-10-07
Packaged: 2017-12-27 00:36:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/972208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/majorshipper/pseuds/majorshipper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Killian Jones thought it would be easy; get captured and sent to her harem, seduce the queen, and escape with her treasure while she was still recovering from his charms. It was simple. Unfortunately, Emma Swan is anything but simple.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For Emilie, whose nameday is tomorrow(today where she is). I've been muttering about this fic for a few weeks, and it's managed to grow a lot more than I expected. It will have two parts. Sorry for the lack of smut in this part.

Killian Jones has heard many stories about the infamous Queen whose palace he’s found himself being led through. Stories that are alternatively frightening and thrilling. Though they have neither effect on him, he can appreciate the reaction.

They say she was born of pure true love, that she wields magic beyond compare, beyond understanding. That she led her father's army to victory over the Evil Queen when she was just nineteen, that her parents just handed her the crown because she was doing such a fantastic job of it anyway. That she's a collector of all things fine and precious, valuable and...well, portable. Specifically, gems.

And for a pirate like him, that's practically a _challenge_.

But the best part of all is that she has a _harem_ , an actual _harem_ , where, as it's rumored, she collects the very finest men and women, beautiful and skilled.

Despite his burning desire to best her and make away with his fair share of treasure, he has more than a little admiration for this woman. Or, at least, for the woman the stories speak of. He's never actually laid eyes on the legendary queen, though he supposes he will soon.

If all goes according to plan, he'll be laying a whole lot more than his eyes on her.

The thought makes him chuckle; in fact, the whole situation makes him chuckle. The soldiers on either side of him have no idea that they're leading him exactly where he wishes to go, that this is _exactly_ what he wants.

Finally, they reach the end of the hall, and a pair of guards standing outside the massive double doors nodding at the ones flanking him before the ease the doors open and a hand on his shoulder unceremoniously shoves him inside.

The room is bright and airy, lit from above by a large oculus, he notes as the door slams shut behind him. Everywhere he looks there are soft transparent curtains falling in waves from the ceiling. Curious, he steps forward, pushing deeper into the room. Right underneath the light is a bed, a giant four-poster monstrosity covered in the same curtains that decorate the rest of the room. The floor shines, brightly polished marble under his boots.

All in all, he thinks, it gets its message across quite loudly. This room is meant for pleasure, to intimidate anyone who is unaccustomed to it and to soothe those who are.

Oh, she will be so much _fun_.

Turning on his heel, he continues to survey the room, taking in all that he can, even though it’s much more of the same. Curtains, marble pillars, huge bed.

“They told me you were gorgeous, but I’m afraid they didn’t do you justice, Captain.”

Killian spins, the voice catching him surprisingly off guard. He’s even more unsteady when he realizes that it came from the woman standing mere inches away from him. Nobody sneaks up on him.

Except for, apparently, her.

If the small gold circlet(inset with emeralds, he notices, matching her ever-changing eyes perfectly in the light) in her hair didn’t give away who she was, her mere _presence_ would have. The golden curls that fell across her shoulders were as radiant as the stories spoke of, her body as lithe and utterly _leaking_ power as he’d been told. The dress she’s wearing seems to be made of the same material as the curtains, layers of sheer fabric flowing over her shoulders and breasts before gathering at her waist and spilling over her legs. The cut of the dress accentuates her curves, draws the eye to her breasts and hips, and when she shifts her leg he catches a glimpse of bare skin on her thigh.

In short, she is probably the most beautiful woman he’s ever laid eyes on.

If he was anyone else, his prospects might seem daunting by now.

But since he’s Killian Jones, he merely smirks at her and bows lightly, bringing her knuckles to his lips in a soft kiss.

“Captain Killian Jones, at your service, my lady,” he says, dropping his voice to a pleasant purr. He wants to make a good impression, after all.

The queen nods and then smiles at him, small and knowing, like she is privy to the greatest secret the world has ever known.

“Please, let’s not stand on ceremony, Killian.” She brushes past him and heads for the center of the room, not even looking over her shoulder to see if he is following. She walks like a woman know knows she will be followed, even if she issues no such command. So of course, he follows.

He knows to play the game, bide his time.

She reaches up and wraps her fingers around one of the posters on the bed, her hand slipping between the gauzy fabric.

“You’re rather infamous, even for a pirate. I’ve heard rather interesting stories about the great Captain Hook,” she says nonchalantly, and Killian bites back a curse. So, she knows exactly who he is. That his flimsy disguise as a simple merchant captain who accidentally wandered into the Queen’s waters has held up in approximately no way at all. That will make things more difficult, certainly. But nothing is impossible.

He straightens his spine and keeps a careful eye on her, even though her attention is focused on the curtains she drifts through like a ghost, moving in lazy circles throughout the room.

“All good things, I hope?”

Her laughter rings out, light and utterly enchanting. A lesser man would be drawn into that laugh, lost in the depths of her voice, the amused rise and fall. That knowing smile is back on her lips when she finally comes around to stand in front of him.

“You’re a pirate. What do you think?”

Well, she said not to stand on ceremony. So he raises an eyebrow and drops his eyes to hers, putting as much tension and suggestion behind the words as he can manage. “Oh, I hope you’ve heard _good_ things about me, lass. I _assure_ you, they’re all true.”

She meets his innuendo head on, her own delicate eyebrow rising at the suggestion. “So you’ve come to see if you can bed yourself a queen, then, have you, Killian?”

He chuckles at that. She’s...not what he expected. It’s exciting.

“Oh, no, _Emma_ ,” he says, emphasising her given name as he shuffles closer to her. “I’ve come to see if a queen would like to bed herself a _pirate_.”

For a long moment, she meets his gaze head-on, unflinching at the challenge that lies there. And then she throws her head back and laughs. Her shoulders shake and cave in towards her chest, amusement bubbling up out of her in waves.

It’s a sight to behold, and it’s confusing as hell for Killian. He hasn’t been laughed at in a very long time, much less when it comes to things such as this. No woman has ever laughed in his face at such a suggestion.

Then again, he’s never quite met a woman like Emma Swan before.

When she finally stops laughing, a wide grin is still plastered across her face, eyes twinkling up at him.

She moves so fast he isn’t prepared for it. One minute she’s smiling at him, her face inches from his own, his breathing controlled just so it puffs across the skin of her neck and shoulder, his plan thrown out the window in favor of on-the-spot adaptations. He think’s he’s doing pretty well.

And then her fingers are around his throat and he’s on his knees and he can’t _move_ and for the first time he feels the slight nagging sensation that maybe he has found himself in a situation he can’t quite charm his way out of.

Her grip on his neck tightens, and he feels his oxygen begin to give out.

“Know this, pirate. The only reason you’re not _dead_ right now for your multitude of crimes is because I see fit to spare you.” Her voice has taken on a sharp edge, and if words could slice a man to pieces, she’d be the one to wield them. “Your _charms_ will not work on me. Better men have tried and failed. So know this, and know it well. _If_ you ever find yourself in my bed, it will not be because I seek to bed a pirate, it will be because I seek to _own_ a pirate. Do you understand?” She releases him with a shove, and he lands hard on the floor, pain shooting through his shoulder as he suddenly finds himself able to move again.

The nagging sensation has risen to full-on warning bells ringing in his ears. Or that could be blood rushing. It’s hard to tell right now.

Slowly, he crawls to his feet again, refusing to show any weakness. Emma is looking at him expectantly, her hands perched on her hips as though he is some wayward child in need of discipline. The mere thought sets his teeth on edge.

Instead of lashing out, which he knows would probably result in the loss of his other hand, he does his best to school his features, though he makes no move to hide the ice he throws into his gaze. She thinks she can handle Captain Hook? Fine, let her _see_ Captain Hook.

“I understand, your majesty.” He narrows his eyes and takes a small step forward, invading her personal space. She doesn’t back away, doesn’t even flinch, doesn’t even blink. She’s a tough lass, more than willing to go toe to toe with him. “But _you_ understand _this_. I am no _better man_ ,” he hisses, “I play _dirty_.”

His implication hangs in the air between them, floating like the fabric surrounding them. She’s mulling something over, he can tell, the way her eyebrows come together and she blinks, hands shifting from her hips.

Surprisingly, her fingers touch his arm, drifting up to his shoulder lightly. He can feel the warmth radiating from her hand, from her body and it’s proximity. She leans forward, advancing on him as her eyes drop to his lips.

This is a dangerous game she’s playing, and he has the feeling that it will be more dangerous for him than for her.

“You should know, Killian,” she murmurs, lips mere inches from his own, her voice light and breathy as her eyes flicker up to his, “I play dirty too.”

And then she surges forward, closing the gap between them as her lips crash into his and her hands worm their way around his neck. She gasps against him and presses her body closer, running her tongue across his lips before he opens to her.

His mind is swirling; what is she planning, what is she doing, and gods above, _how does she know to kiss like this_? He knows he needs to stay alert, that she is planning something, that he is not in control, but the way she moans against his tongue and wraps her arm around his waist makes him lose his thoughts, scatting them to the wind like so much dust.

She slides her hand down and slips it under his shirt, pressing against the skin there, before slowly starting to inch it upwards. She kisses him like she is trying to crawl inside of him, and he returns it with fervor. Her grip on his sides tighten even as she shoves his shirt farther up, fingers dancing across his stomach, brushing against the top of his pants before riding even higher than before.

For his part, he tangles his hand in her hair and wraps his arm around her waist, holding him against her, though he isn’t entirely sure she isn’t just letting him _think_ he’s holding her. Either way, he is enjoying the delicious feel of her mouth against his, her fingers on his skin, the way her curls slip through his fingers even as he tugs on them lightly, angling for a better position.

But her touch has grown demanding and she shoves the shirt up, urging his arms up so she can pull it off of him. Something is tinkling at the back of his mind, but he can’t place it, not when she is devouring him like a final meal.

Finally, she breaks away and yanks his shirt up and over his head, throwing it across the room indiscriminately. He leans back in to continue the kiss, but she avoids him, taking a step back even as she presses her palm flat against his chest.

“Ah, ah, not so fast.” Her lips are bright and kiss-bitten, her hair mussed from where he ran his fingers through it. The circlet on her head has tilted to the side a little and she is slightly out of breath, but her voice is firm, commanding, even with the hint of amusement running through it.

She is dangerous, a siren on dry land, and he feels her call even as he tries to process what is happening. Images flash through his mind; the way she would look, spread naked across that bed, the sounds she would make under his ministrations, the way they would slip past those beautiful lips. It makes him ache, and he curses his body for its reaction. Her beauty is a trap, meant to lure men to their deaths.

Despite his best efforts, her song is bright and loud, and it circles him in a vice-like grip.

“What game are we playing, Emma?” He raises an eyebrow at her and shifts his hand up to twist a single curl around his finger. She shrugs his touch away and smirks, and he wants to curse her, how confident she is, how assured her control is.

She curls her fingers, then, dragging them through the dark hair across his chest and towards the side as she moves to circle him.

“We aren’t playing any game, Killian. _I_ am inspecting my new property.” She leans in over his shoulder, fingers tightening over curve of his shoulder. “Would you not do the same?”

He stiffens at her tone, the implication there. “I belong to no one, love,” he spits, and her nails dig painfully into the skin of his shoulder. A hiss rises up in his throat but he pushes it down even when he feels his skin break where she’s pressing down.

“I think you'll find you _do_ belong to me." She taps her finger against his skin, ignoring the bright red lines where her fingers had been.

"Says what law?"

She chuckles and comes to face him again, eyebrow raising in amusement, and Killian seethes at her. This is not how it should be. He had a plan. A good one.

"I thought pirates had a particular distaste for laws?"

Maybe he underestimated her, because he's starting to think she too had a plan, and there’s an uncomfortable feeling settling into the pit of his stomach that tells him while his schemes may have fallen apart at the seams, hers were going precisely according to plan.

Well. He'll just have to turn on the charm.

She hums when her gaze falls on his left arm, the brace that stretches up his arm and straps around his shoulder, holding his hook in place.

“Missing extremities tend to make items lose their value,” she tells him, offhand. He raises an eyebrow. So this is the game she wishes to play?

“They don’t just call me Hook for fun. But I’ve never had any complaints. Most women tend to find my...skillset _more_ than enough to make up for any perceived loss,” he says with a leer. If he sounds slightly smug, it's only because he knows it's true.

She smiles lazily at him. “I’m not most women.”

“Oh, believe me, love, I’ve noticed," he replies smoothly, looking her up and down appreciatively, throwing a wink in for extra measure.

The crescent shaped marks on his shoulder burn.

One day he will mark her just as well. It's not a terrible thought to imagine bruises shaped like his fingers on the curve of her hips, or what the gorgeous column of her neck would look like with a string of marks laid on it.

That's the thought that keeps his facade charming even as her smile turns predatory and sharp. She drifts over to the bed, her fingers caressing the canopy as she slips through it.

"Well then, let's see just why they keep you around then, shall we?" She's already easing onto the bed, her shoes clattering to the floor.

It's not what he had expected, honestly. He hasn't met someone so challenging in a long time.

"I thought I wasn't going to find myself in your bed, Emma?" He snarks, advancing on her as her legs slip open, fabric parting to reveal the creamy skin of her legs to him.

She tilts her head up at him, and though she’s sitting there, leaning back on her palms even as she shifts her hips and more skin is revealed, strips of her dress falling between her legs as it becomes blindingly apparent that she is nude under the thin fabric, she still carries that air of calm control.

“I never said _you_ were going to be joining me in the bed.” She pointedly drops her gaze to the spot between her parted knees before looking back at him, meeting him head-on with a challenging glint in her eyes.

Killian Jones knows when he is being played, and right now, he feels like a goddamn fiddle. But she's given him something, she's played her hand, expecting him to fall in line.

A plan is forming in his head as he slides closer and drags his fingers along the bare skin of her thigh, pulling the opaque fabric up past her hip.

"What, then, are you asking of me?" He smoothly lowers himself down, then, bracing his hook again the bed next to her hip as he kneels. He presses his thumb against the inside of her thigh and starts rubbing circles against the skin there, enough pressure to hold her leg open in that position.

"I didn't take you for a fool, ca-" her words dissolve into a gasp as he plants his lips against the inside of her leg, just above the knee, and drags them wetly up her thigh, the scratch of his barely-there beard leaving a light red mark behind him. He nips at the delicate skin just inches from the apex of her thighs, and lets out a pleased sound when there's a tiny shudder of her hips under his hand.

Turning his head, he moves to repeat the action on her other leg, slower this time, enough to savor it. Her breathing is heavier now, and he takes pride in the fact that he’s _finally_ ruffled her feathers some. When he turns his head to nuzzle against her, she shifts and her hand comes up to tangle in his hair. Roughly, she jerks him up to meet her gaze.

“What are you doing?” Her eyes are dark and wide, and there’s something else lurking behind them, something he can’t quite identify.

He quirks an eyebrow at her and slowly licks his lips sensually, not missing the way her eyes follow the movement. “I believe it’s called foreplay, love.”

She freezes, a myriad of things flashing across her face before she settles on something he supposes she must think is indifferent.

But he sees the softness there, the incredulity. As though no man has ever bothered to caress her, to offer something soft. That’s unthinkable, though; what man wouldn’t be desperate to shower her in everything a queen deserves? For a split second, it makes him hesitate. For that one second, he recognizes something in her, like looking in a mirror. It’s impossible to pinpoint but he feels it nonetheless.

He’s not sure how long it drags out, the way they’re looking at each other, but slowly he returns to himself, and he blinks hard, cursing himself. He can’t afford to be distracted, not right now, not when he has her right where he wants her. Besides, she just gave him the last piece he needed.

Slowly, he drags his hand down her leg before circling her ankle with his fingers. He brings it up to his lips without breaking their staring match, and presses a light kiss against the skin there.

Emma’s eyes flutter and then close, and that’s all he needs.

He gently plants her foot back on the floor and kisses the curve of her knee one last time before he pushes himself up from the floor.

“Wha-?” Her eyes shoot open at the sudden loss, and he smirks at her. If it feels a touch hollow, well, that’s his business.

“I’m afraid, your majesty, I must refuse your _generous_ offer,” he sneers coldly as he turns away and reaches for his shirt. Hurt flickers in her eyes, and she blinks at him, as though trying to process the sudden change. She deserves it, he reminds himself. Nobody puts him on his knees and doesn’t regret it.

“Fine,” she snaps back, after a moment. She’s sealed herself off again, nothing but her own hardened, cold exterior to be seen.

But he knows he didn’t imagine it; she was actually _hurt_. Not by their little play for power, but by his simple rejection.

Killian doesn’t plan on saying anything else, but he still finds himself turning back to her, slinking back to stand in front of her. “I won’t be another of your playthings, darling.” She narrows her eyes at him, but he continues on, crouching to bring himself down to her level. “You don’t want _sex_ , you want _connection_ , and you’ll not find it with the people you bring here.” He lets his hand drift up, brushing across her knee and then thigh, and he’s slightly surprised when she doesn’t even flinch. “I won’t take advantage of your _perfect_ body until you _beg_ me to.” She doesn’t move, so he leans in further, so they’re sharing the same air with every breath. “And when you do, _nothing else_ will do.” He smirks again, allowing his eyes to flutter down across her body, drinking it in.

“You’re too self-assured. I’ve had many who’ve thought like you.” A smile plays across her lips as she leans towards him. If he moved now, their lips would brush. “They discovered how wrong they were too.”

He fixes his eyes on hers, allowing himself to get lost in their depths. She reminds him of the sea, a little bit; a harsh mistress, giving no quarter, no favor.

“You may be queen, love, but I see right through you.”

Emma closes the gap and when she speaks, it’s a whisper against his lips. “And what do you see?”

He allows himself to stay there for a moment, time suspended. She makes no move to pull away. What he has to say next, he knows, will probably bring her wrath down on him. As much as that had been his goal, he finds himself wishing to stay here with her for just a little while longer.

“I see loneliness. You’re _desperate_ for someone to love you, but you refuse to allow it.”

The words hang in the air between them.

“Get out,” Emma hisses, her voice a sharp edge even as her face gives nothing away. He pulls away, but doesn’t leave yet.

“Did I hit a nerve, your majesty?”

She rises up out of the bed and latches her hand around his arm, dragging him back to the door he came in.

“Get. Out.” Her knuckles rap on the door and it starts to creak open instantly. She releases him with a shove, sending him towards the small opening between the two grand doors.

“Until next time, Emma!” He throws over his shoulder, and the last thing he sees before the guards hands are around his arms is her glare starting to crack, something else seeping up underneath, something she can’t control.

He’s lead through dozens of halls, but he pays them no heed, knowing he’ll be able to memorize it all later. His mind is more concerned with the queen. Emma Swan.

She’s a paradox and he finds it tantalizing; no matter what else he tries to think about, he finds himself returning to her, the glimmers of emotion he’d seen. It shouldn’t be so intriguing, but it is.

The guards shove him into a room, one small candle burning in the corner. It’s small, but no smaller than he’s used to, and the bed in the corner looks comfortable enough. His ship is miles better, but this will do.

Sitting on the bed, he eases off his boots and allows himself to relax into the mattress. He walked into this damned castle planning to rob it, and she destroyed that plan. He should be looking for a way out, an escape to get back to his ship and return to the sea.

But he can’t. Not when she won’t leave his mind. Not when he closes his eyes and all he can see is the way she’d crumpled at his words.

Not when he feels almost the twinges of guilt. Sighing, he closes his eyes and tries to sleep.

It doesn’t come as easy as it usually does.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well...it's been a little while. There aren't really any words to describe what's happened to my muse in the past couple of years, but I'm slowly working my way back to writing again, and updating this fic has been on the top of my priority list for a while. So here it goes. 
> 
> I have a question now though for whoever might end up reading this; it has about 8-10 parts planned, however, I easily foresee it having maybe double that because often these dummies won't cooperate with what I need them to do to advance the story. That being said, would you, as readers, rather have smaller(3-5k) chapters more frequently, or longer(5k-12k) a bit less often? I can't commit to a schedule but I want to post at least once every couple of weeks if I do smaller chapters and probably once a month if I do larger ones.
> 
> Also a huge shout out to crowsfan66 on Tumblr for helping me corral commas and missing letters.

Emma takes a deep breath, her irritation giving rise to a brief crackle of magic that she quickly squashes. It’s only been a week, but this is the third report she’s gotten about the damned pirate. She doesn’t even know why she decided to keep him instead of letting him go again

Realistically, she knows she needed to assess if he was a threat(he’s not) and if he would give away her secrets(he _probably_ wouldn’t, but it’s a good thing he doesn’t know any), but he could be gone now. All it would take would be one word and he’d be gone.

His ship no longer lingers at the edge of her kingdom, but he would certainly find his way back to it. He strikes her as the kind of man who doesn’t let much get in his way.

He reminds her a little too much of herself in that way, and perhaps that’s why she keeps him. All it took was one small visit and he’s under her skin in a rather uncomfortable way. It was a test, one she put together for _him_ but one she know _she_ failed.

It’s been a very long time since someone truly affected her like this.

So maybe that’s why she refuses to send him on his way, why every time she feels him hit the spells she’s placed around her valuables she merely chuckles instead of something worse.

Still, he’s become a bit of a problem in this regard.

The harem was meant to help rebuild her kingdom, to give men and women a chance to learn something and perhaps find a future and a family.

 _Not_ for one-handed pirates to go around bedding anything that would fall for their charms.

Sighing, she rubs at her forehead. For all that she finds him fascinating, she really doesn’t want to deal with him right now. Soon she will need to leave for one of her rather far-flung allies, and she still has much to finalize for the trip, too much to worry about the additional headache that is Captain Hook.

But this is a problem that doesn’t seem to be going away, and while she is more than capable of ensuring no unintended consequences happen thanks to his wandering dick, she’d rather work to _prevent_ said consequences than try to reverse them.

Their last encounter lingers in the back of her mind as she slowly stacks the papers on her desk off to the side and stands.

He’s arrogant, and selfish, and far too good at seeing right through her. It’s not just unsettling; a very small part of her is terrified that she let enough of her guard down to allow him to see weakness. It’s been a _very_ long time since anyone has dared to call her out, and honestly, there hasn’t been much for them to say.

It’s been a long time since she truly danced with darkness, since she allowed herself to be mad from what she’d lost, and most people have long forgotten it.

She’s a good queen, and a good person. She knows it.

But this man, Killian, as she’d insisted on calling him, makes it surge back to the surface, the desire to dominate him, to make sure he knows who is in charge, to make sure he knows that her kindness is just that; kindness. She doesn’t _have_ to provide it.

And that’s exactly what this is, she thinks as she hefts the small potion in her hand. It’s kindness. 

He’s a well-known criminal, a pirate, and has probably committed crimes against her own crown that would rightfully cost him his life. She could do whatever she wanted to him and nobody would be able to lift a finger, or even have the right to criticize her choices.

And so she finds herself stalking down the hallway, the only sound that of her clothes as they swish back and forth.

The doors open before her without her touch, a small spark of magic nudging them open before she even reaches them, allowing the anticipation to fill the room.

Hook isn’t looking at her when she enters, but he must have noticed the magic, because his eyes flicker up and he smirks.

“Nice trick there.”

He stands in the middle of the room, the same one where they’d met. She’s had the bed removed, no longer needed after that day. She tries to keep most of her business with the harem residents confined to this section of the palace, and this room in particular. It tends to impress upon them various things, and she would rather have their respect than their affection.

However, it doesn’t seem to be working on this particular resident.

He’s fiddling with his hook, a bored look on his face as he waits for her to speak, not a hint of respect evident on his face.

She rolls her eyes and approaches him, ignoring his earlier comment.

“Here,” she offers, and holds out the potion to him, her tone brooking compliance. Surprisingly, he does take it, a curious look on his face.

“What’s this now, love? Have you already tired of me? We’ve hardly even met.” His voice is dry, a flat deadpan that makes her snort.

“Don’t worry. If I wanted you dead, we wouldn’t even need to be in the same room.”

She doesn’t miss the way his smirk flattens slightly, and smiles slightly to herself. He pops the cork off of the bottle with his hook and brings it to his nose, giving the liquid a sniff. The look on his face when he smells it probably would be enough to turn away half of his new paramours, and her smile widens.

“It smells disgusting, your highness. And you didn’t exactly answer me,” he prods, eyeing the potion before fixing his gaze on her.

“I see you have the brains to go with your looks,” she quips, and he smirks. “Think of it as a new beginning. Drink it.”

He makes a face.

“And if I don’t?”

She shrugs, raising a hand to cover his gently. “I could very easily make you, and you know that. Stop playing and drink it.” The small spark of magic under her palm jolts him, and he stiffens.

“As you wish,” he hisses, and lifts the bottle to his lips, downing it in one swallow. She doesn’t miss the way his hook twitches, and _gods_ she wish he wouldn’t make everything so difficult. The stubbornness isn’t unfamiliar to her, though, and she remembers the pang she’d felt at being forced to drink a potion herself, such a long time ago. Lifetimes, really, and she bites back the surge of emotion at the memory.

Empathy makes her take a step back, makes her explain it to him.

“If you’re going to be sleeping with anyone you can charm, I have to take steps to protect my subjects, and this will do that. You will not impregnate anyone who does not wish for a child, and you won’t pass along any potentially undesirable…issues.”

He raises and eyebrow at her and shakes his head. “I’m not sure if I should be offended by the implication there.”

“You _are_ a pirate,” she replies a bit incredulously, and he snorts.

“A pirate _captain_ , love. I wouldn’t exactly be very _welcome_ in many port towns if I left, as you said, any _undesirable issues_ with the women who cared to share my bed. You know, I think I am a bit offended, in fact,” he says, eyebrows raised in defiance.

“Don’t be. It’s a precaution we take for everyone. It makes things simple and safe,” she replies, wishing she could snap at him, wishing he didn’t seem to want to _work_ to get under her skin. And she allows him.

A long moment of silence follows, his eyes watching her from underneath long lashes. Finally, he blinks, a slow smile spreading across his face.

“Ah. I see, then, that this has nothing to do with jealousy or insulted pride.”

His words are bait, and she knows it.

She won’t fall for it.

“And who would be jealous in this scenario?” 

(So maybe she likes being baited _just a little bit_.)

His grin grows, lips curling into a satisfied smirk. It seems to be his trademark, in fact, a look he wears as easily as his hook.

“Surely you, darling. After all, I do distinctly seem to recall you informing me that I _belong_ to you.”

He’s begging her to play, to pull at this string he’s offered until he can unravel her and her secrets. She knows because she would do the same. It’s oddly familiar, seeing so much of herself in him, in the tilt of his head and the stubborn resistance that rears its head with every other word he speaks.

So if he wants a game, she will play him one.

“Indeed, you do. Perhaps, then, I’m being too lenient,” she murmurs, willing him to blink and appearing behind him when he does. “Perhaps I should be jealous,” she whispers in his ear, and his back stiffens, shoulders pulling back. But he doesn’t turn, no, he doesn’t give her the satisfaction of that, and he doesn’t say anything as she moves around him. She brushes her fingers across his shoulder, and to his credit, he doesn’t even flinch, just watches her carefully.

She was right, he is smart.

“You’re in my kingdom, in my house. I doubt any of your crew would storm in to rescue you if anything terrible were to happen to you. In fact, they wouldn’t make it past the docks. But you know that very well. And yet, you antagonize me. Do you _want_ to be punished? Is that what makes the dreaded Captain Hook shiver in his…” she pointedly looks at his crotch before drawing her eyes back up his body. “…boots?” 

His bark of laugher is sudden and strong, not entirely unexpected. There’s a spark in his eye, and a fight behind it.

“It does always come back to that, doesn’t it love? Can you not decide if you want to fuck me or fight me?” He breathes, leans into her space. “You think I want to be punished. I think you want to do the punishing.”

She shrugs. “Who says we can’t do both?”

He laughs again at that, longer and lower, smile reaching his eyes as he begins to move, walking paces around her. They spin for a moment, like that, eyeing each other, picking their next moves and words.

“Indeed, your majesty. Who says?” His voice is low, a rough rumble that would set a lesser woman aflame.

Emma is no such woman, but she can’t deny that he has an effect on her, that perhaps after this she will need to find something to give her release. She isn’t about to actually sleep with him, but she’s curious how this will play out. Despite her better instincts, she wants to know more about him.

She taps her fingers on her lips, absently waving a hand behind her and then falling into the ornate chair that fills the space. 

“Stop fucking my girls, then,” she says, and he scoffs.

“A man has needs, love. I am as you said, just a lowly pirate.”

“Lowly indeed,” she murmurs, and sets her hands down on the chair. He falls to his knees, smirk vanishing from his face, replaced with a brief struggle against her magic before he settles back on his heels, palm flat on his thigh.

“Do you wish me to bare my throat then? Perhaps summon up a fiery dragon to swallow me whole?”

She rolls her eyes then, nudging his hook with her foot, replacing it on his thigh.

“That would be ridiculous. Killing you would be a waste; what’s the point of a harem if you kill people every time they step out of line? No, I wouldn’t kill you Killian. You’re far too fascinating for that. But,” she says, and nudges her foot closer to his crotch, “there are other things I could do.”

He doesn’t move, and it’s not because she has him held in her spell.

“I’m flattered that you think I’m so fascinating,” he says instead, voice steady but dull, eyes boring into her.

He _is_ more than she gives him credit for.

“And while I’m sure it would probably give you great pleasure if you thought you could hurt me, we both know what you’re proposing would certainly put a kink in your plans if you intend on using me for what we both know you want to.”

She raises her eyebrows at him.

“You think I want to fuck you?”

He chuckles, shaking his head and rocking on his knees. Surely they must hurt; the floor is hard and unforgiving, but he makes no move to rise.

“Maybe, but, you see, I’ve been thinking a lot about you, Emma. And perhaps asking a few questions with your oh-so-lovely subjects.”

“So there _is_ a brain in that beautiful head of yours, Killian,” she replies, but he smirks at her, ignoring her words.

“They tell me things about you, whispers, really, about why you even started a harem in the first place. That you were desperate, still are, in fact, for a child. And,” he shrugs slowly, lazily, and she wants to grit her teeth and yell at him, but she does nothing. “It makes sense, doesn’t it? Considering our first encounter.”

She says nothing, turning over his words in her mind.

He’s not wrong, and it’s a searing pain in her chest, a reminder of all she’s lost, all she’s given up and had taken from her.

She’s ready to send him back, now, because this isn’t a game, this is her life that he’s playing with here, and he knows far too much. Her thoughts from earlier come back to haunt her; he knows some of her secrets now. He can sense weakness, can probably see it in her eyes. He _is_ dangerous. She raises her hand, to dismiss him, to vanish him from her sight, she’s not sure what yet, but he hurries to speak again.

“I understand,” he whispers, blinking slowly and looking away. His tone is changed; smugness gone in an instant.

She’s not sure if he’s still playing her, but she won’t take the chance that he is.

“You don’t understand anything. You’re a goddamn pirate, a thief and a liar. It’s practically in your blood. You don’t know _anything_ about me,” she hisses at him. 

He ignores her tone and leans forward, fingers digging into the velvet of her chair, wrapping around the golden pommel of the arm.

“I know far more than you’d like, love. You’re an open book. You know what pain feels like, you know what it’s like to lose something that cannot be replaced. I know the same.”

His eyes are piercing, a deep blue that sees past every wall she has spent a decade erecting, maybe even to her very soul.

She hates it, hates him.

But he’s not lying. And he’s not playing her anymore.

She speaks before she can stop herself, before she can think.

“And tell me, then, you lost a son to save your kingdom? That you swore vengeance and sacrificed everything to achieve it? You think you know me, you think you know my pain,” and she leans in, spitting the words into his face, “ _you don’t know anything_.”

Vanishing the chair, she stands, ignoring him as he falls forward into where she had been only second before. She stands tall, sweeping away from him, and he finally rises, pulls himself to his feet to face her.

His fingers wrap around her arm, and she spins on him, his mouth open with whatever he was going to say. He doesn’t get to speak, and she fills the space.

“Don’t touch me,” she hisses, and he reluctantly lets her go, mouth closing.

“I know what it is to want vengeance, Swan,” he says quietly to her back, and she stops. She wants to leave, to storm off and collect her thoughts because she is a _mess_ , all she can think about is _Henry_ and the anger that bubbles in her chest, the vengeance that is long satisfied but still lives under the surface, the lingering touch of darkness she’s ignored for so long.

Perhaps he was right, perhaps she should summon a dragon to take him away from her, to make her stop _feeling_.

Instead she turns on him, fingers closing around his throat. He raises his hand to pull at hers, but it’s futile, and they both know it. She won’t hurt him, just enough pressure to get her point across.

“ _Shut up_ , pirate. My pain is my own. Go back to fucking your way through women instead of trying to analyze me. I don’t want your _pity_ or your _understanding_ , and I don’t _need_ it.”

There would have been a time she would have then flung him against a wall, disappearing in a cloud of smoke to nurse her wounds.

She lets him go, eyes narrowed, and he sways on his feet, fingers rubbing against his neck. 

“You can dismiss me all you like, Emma, but you should know something,” he says, slow and careful, before stepping closer, invading her space, words rolling over her skin. “I _love_ a challenge.”

And that, that finishes it. She blinks and is in her own room again, sinking down into her too-comfortable bed as his words ring in her ears like a taunt.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay; I got very busy over the holidays, but I’m back now! To make up for it this is a pretty long chapter. I hope to update every couple of weeks from here out with smaller chapters, but we’ll see. You’ll notice I changed how many chapters I’m expecting because I’ve added a lot of stuff that wasn’t in the first draft.
> 
> As always, thanks to my amazing beta/sounding board crowsfan66 for help with all things related to this fic.

Despite no longer living and working on a ship, sometimes not even able to see the sun when he rises, he still finds himself waking before brightness begins to peek into the palace rooms.

It’s taken some getting used to, to put it mildly. His sea legs still occasionally follow him around, the ground moving even when he damn well knows it's flat, and it’s often annoying to know that where he once commanded a crew of pirates he now doesn’t even command himself.

But for all that things have changed, he can at least appreciate a sunrise.

Normally, he would probably join some of the other men as they head to the fields. It’s not the work he’s used to, and it’s far lower than what a captain should be doing, but he far prefers it to staying inside, sitting through lesson after lesson. There’s people who plan to become smiths and people who were farmers but now wish to train horses, people from presumably every walk of life and every corner of her majesty’s kingdom. His evenings would be filled with research, cataloging the main rooms of the palace and anywhere their might be something of value, because he did come here for a reason, and he did promise plenty of riches on his return.

Today isn’t normal, though, he thinks as he notes the gathering in the main courtyard. The sun has hardly risen and yet it seems like the courtyard is filled with bodies, people milling about and making conversation in hushed tones. He joins a group of ladies he recognizes, throwing on a rather charming grin. They smile in return and so he nods his head towards the gathering around them.

“What’s this all about?”

The oldest (and probably wisest judging from the way she looks at him) shrugs, but one of the others speaks before she can.

“There’s rumors that the queen is leaving on a trip! Her guard is picking people to travel with her." The words have barely left the woman's lips when a rather loud and obnoxious voice shouts his name.

"Hook!" 

He twists a wry grin in the direction of the women and steps forward into the courtyard. There, standing in the center, is the aptly-named Grumpy, one of the queen's guards, glaring grumpily - again, aptly - at him.

They might or might not have had a run-in when Killian had strayed just a little too far from the quarters assigned to him. Perhaps. But that was neither here nor there.

"Aye, that is what they call me. Though there's usually a 'Captain' attached to the front of it." His smirk and words have the intended effect on the short man, his face reddening. There's noise from the crowd, a small wave of giggles somewhere in the back, but instead of getting more agitated he turns to smile smugly at Killian.

"Get your things together. You're shipping out first thing tomorrow with the tide. I think you'll find the title 'cabin boy' more suitable for this particular excursion, _Hook_."

And then the dwarf turns on his heel and stomps off to another group of people, issuing more orders and calling for more people to be ready the next morning. The crowd shifts, some people disbursing and others following him, likely hoping to be picked simply by proximity. If there's anything to be said for this kingdom, it's that they love their queen, always eager for anything that might bring them into closer proximity to her.

He stays where he is, mulling over the new information. For Killian, being shoved into this trip is the last thing he'd wanted. If Emma was going to be gone it would give him the perfect opportunity to do more here in the palace. With her and her royal guards off on some trip it would be the perfect opportunity to venture father than he'd been allowed before.

But that certainly won't happen now that he's been given his marching orders. He scoffs to himself, thinking about the way the dwarf had spoken to him. Not many people here like him, it's true, and the way they act around him sometimes does boil his blood. Anyone who's heard of him looks in either fear or disgust, and the young women to come to him in the evenings have only barely heard tale of who he really is, only eager to see if the more blush-worthy stories are true.

They are, of course.

But the grown men eye him with plenty of disdain, and he's only managed to get a few of them to even speak to him. Too many are proud about their beloved queen managing to capture the scourge of the seas, and he can't exactly correct them on it. His plan is still technically a secret.

Even if it's taking much longer than intended.

He's sure by now his crew has wandered from where they had been set to wait, now that he's well over two weeks past due. They were supposed to take to a port and wait for him if he didn't show, and while they are a cutthroat group of men, they'll keep themselves in line at the riches he'd promised.

Now he only has to worry about keeping _himself_ in line. He's been distracted, he's man enough to admit. His mind wanders easily, and Emma is beautiful and intriguing in a way he hasn't felt in a very long time. He looks at his hand, the knuckles and fingers and flat palm covered in calluses. Up his wrist and to his forearm, where the reminder of the last woman he'd cared for sits in stark contrast to his skin.

Milah.

Three hundred years he'd waited to avenger her, only to find the deed already done, the crocodile's castle empty and abandoned for years, the townsfolk casting their eyes aside at any mention of his name. It had taken a considerable amount of gold and even then the sharpness of his hook to glean that the monster was dead, vanquished quickly and quietly by god only knows who.

The anger, the desire for vengeance still burned through his blood, but it felt so numbingly futile now, and if he allowed it it would overtake him in a wave of worthlessness he dared not contemplate.

Instead he'd thrown himself and his crew into what they'd always done best, and built a new reputation upon the old one.

Half the time he doesn't even know what he's doing anymore, and it's hard to muster the energy to care. Life consists of little now that he feels hollowed out, the revenge sucked out of him until there's nothing left in its place. He'd cut out all of himself to make room for vengeance, and without it he doesn't exist much beyond the shell of Captain Hook.

Not that he allows anyone to know that; hell, he avoids contemplating on it much himself.

And yet. He's found himself thinking more and more about it as of late.

There's something oh-so-familiar about Emma, like face you've seen but forgotten, and he knows it's the same gaping, aching wound that follows him around echoed back in her eyes. It could have been unsettling, perhaps, but something about it( _her_ ) called to him like a siren on the rocks.

He'd allowed himself to be entranced by her, and now, his original plans have been derailed once again. An unknown voyage by sea could take weeks if not months depending on the land they were visiting, and it's time he really isn't looking forward to wasting. But he won't be able to simply slip out of going, he knows. Especially since the queen's guards aren't as foolish as they'd seemed at first. Grumpy has been eying him since their first encounter, and it's certainly no coincidence that he's going with them.

He wonders if it was Emma's decision to bring him? Keeping your enemies closer and all that, but it doesn't seem her style, not since she vanished on him all those weeks ago. It seemed like she was quite content to forget he even existed.

So no, not the queen, then, who wanted him away from the palace. Someone else, then, but it didn't really matter. The open sea meant plenty of opportunities, and another land was full of possibilities, including escape. There would likely be plenty of riches to be pilfered on the journey, and surely they would be visiting someone with...great taste.

It settles in his mind; the idea of a far-flung kingdom, surely their visit will entail royalty of some kind, and perhaps even an opening for all the things he's been unable to accomplish here.

He watches the sun begin to peek into the sky above the courtyard and flexes his fingers, feeling the curve of metal under his palm. Yes, perhaps this might be a fortuitous set of circumstances.

\--------------------------------------

The ship is huge. Far larger than the Jolly, and carrying probably thrice the armaments. Truly fit for a queen.

It does miff him a little bit, however. No pirates would ever dare to attack this ship, certainly not with the rest of the fleet waiting in the harbor, moorings already cast aside. And so he knows he will have to wait out the entire journey to wherever they're going.

He huffs, shouldering his pack and heading up the steps that lead to the dock. People mill about, some heading to the ship and others away. Guards stand on the gangplanks, and they eye him carefully as he steps on. A jaunty mock salute has them glaring at him, and he grins.

It's always been his policy to enjoy the little things anyways, including the subtle rocking of the deck. Despite not knowing what the hell he's doing here, he can take comfort in being on a ship again. The air is salty and wonderful, and he can already feel his body readjusting to the sway of the ocean.

Nobody seems to pay him much mind even as he stands there on deck, and since his oh-so-friendly escort to the docks that morning had vanished without a word once they were in sight of the ship's guards, he decides to explore the ship. 

He's been on one like this only once before, quite literally lifetimes ago. He hadn't been a pirate then, not even a lieutenant yet, just a boy, meekly following his brother along.

It's been a lifetime indeed, he thinks as he heads below decks. 

Everything is richly decorated, golden gilding and ornate carvings in the wood. Not a ship of war by any stretch of the imagination. The halls are compact but nothing like on his ship. There's the three cannon decks that he noticed outside, a galley large enough to hold the crew a ship this size demands, and a forest of hammocks hanging amongst it all.

It's different, but sailing is in his blood and bones. He's spent more time on the sea than most people have in their entire lives, and because of that he notices the moment they cast off. There's shouting and footsteps on deck, but still no one disturbs him. Some people pass him by, but none pay him any heed.

Really, it was a bit insulting. Someone had wanted him here, and now wouldn't even do him the common courtesy of telling him where he was supposed to be.

With more than a little bit of spite driving him he continues on, until he comes across the rather ornate staterooms that are typically reserved for the highest officers and their esteemed guests. This particular hall is empty; everyone is probably above decks preparing for the journey.

Moving quietly, he wraps his hand around one of the doorknobs closest to him and twists. To his surprise, it opens, completely unlocked. Quickly, he darts into the room, closing the door gently behind him.

And then his eyes widen in surprise

Of all the staterooms to wander into, he _would_ find the queen's. Surely it must be hers. There's a ridiculously ornate bed in one corner covered in a feminine duvet, an open wardrobe that's filled with the kind of clothes suited for a ruler, and a far shelf covered in various bottles of dark liquids that glimmer in the morning light.

He slowly steps further into the room, eyes scanning for anything left out on the open. Perhaps it's a bit foolish, to take something she would surely notice missing while trapped on the same ship as her, but just the _idea_ of finally taking something from her sends a thrill down his spine.

And, well, he is a pirate.

At the very moment his eyes find what looks like a very nice jewelry box, a small laugh sounds from behind him.

"I had a feeling you'd find your way here," she says, her voice light with amusement.

He whirls, desperately trying to school his features into something slightly less surprised. Judging from the smug look on her face, he didn't exactly succeed. She stands next to the door, her hand still on the knob, her body positioned from having just closed the door.

Somehow she managed to sneak in quieter than he had, and with a flick of her wrist the bolt in the door turns, locking them both in.

_Magic_ , a small voice in his head supplies. 

Adrenaline pushes through his veins and his heart pounds in his chest even though his brain is well aware that he really has nothing to fear from her. In fact, a small part of him had maybe been wishing she'd be in here, that he'd get to see her again. Talk to her again.

But still, he's infinitely aware of her upper hand in this situation(and every one that's come before it), so he plasters on the most charming smile he can muster and spreads his hands.

"Well, I have been looking for you, your highness."

Emma laughs and shakes her head, obviously not buying a bit of his bullshit.

She hasn't flung him against the nearest hard surface yet, though, so he considers himself lucky.

"I'm sure you were, pirate." The words should probably be insulting, but it's said with more amusement than anything, so he takes it for what it is. What he hopes it is, which is simple banter.

He doesn't miss her cursory glance across the room, eyes probing before quickly dismissing each area. At least he has that; she doesn't innately know if he's disturbed her things. Which he hasn't. Yet. Still, he takes the moment to truly look at her, now that he's not as surprised. She looks...different. Drastically so.

Her hair is pulled back into a loose braid, and instead of a dress swishing around her legs there's a pair of tightly-fitted breeches in their place, leaving the curve of her behind and length of her legs exposed to anyone who dares to look. The ensemble is completed with a light blouse and a blue vest buttoned across her chest.

To be honest, she looks stunning, and nothing at all like a queen. Of course, she still carries the air of someone important, but if you saw her on the street you would barely look at her twice, and only thanks to her beauty.

He'd already known she was an unconventional woman, but now he can _see_ it. She looks like just another traveler on the sea.

"So," she says, interrupting his thoughts, "Why were you looking for me?" 

If he were a lesser man, he probably would have blushed at her catching him eyeing her so openly, but as she had just said, _pirate_ , so he just grinned at her instead, trying to project an air of casual nonchalance. 

She probably wouldn't buy it, but he had to at least try. For his pride.

"Just wondering where our journey takes us. And, of course, why I was invited along." She snorts and rolls her eyes, as unladylike a gesture he's ever seen, but it sends a delightful thrill through him.

"You and I both know you weren't exactly _invited_." Beneath their feet, the ship begins to truly move, finally out of the bay and into the open seas. Emma walks towards the desk he'd been eying earlier and flips open the lid of the jewelry box, revealing a bright emerald pendant that glitters in the light.

She's teasing him, he realizes abruptly. It's so different from their last encounter that he's not exactly sure how to tread around her now, especially when she fingers the item and then lifts it out and sets it aside.

"Fine, then, why I was _pressed into service_ if I'm not even of any use?" He finally replies, eyes distracted as she lifts out a pair of earrings next and sets them down as well. 

"You are a sailor, aren't you? Or do captains on your ship just waltz around and give commands?" She looks up at him, her eyebrows raised in query. 

"Aye, I'm a sailor love. Among many other things. But I suspect you already have plenty of those." Almost without knowing what he's doing, he finds himself taking a step towards her, and then another, bringing them closer together until he could reach out and touch her if he wanted to.

(He wants to.)

She hums and turns back to her box, finally withdrawing a simple leather cuff. No decoration, no jewels, nothing but dark leather shaped into a thick bracelet. He eyes it curiously, but knows better than to ask what it is.

"Maybe I need you for something," She finally says, and looks up at him, eyes meeting his own. There's something there, shimmering behind the golden green flecks, and try as he might, he can't decipher it. Her body shuffles closer to his, and without knowing he seems to fall into her orbit, coming closer and closer to each other until he can feel the warm puff of her breath on his cheek when he tilts his head to look at her.

"As always, I am at your command, my lady," he murmurs, well aware of the atmosphere that has descended on them in just the last few moments.

She must be too, because her eyes are wide, and he's not fool enough to forget the look on an enamored woman's face. 

But it feels oh-so-familiar, this sensation of being pulled towards her. Of her eyes flickering across his. Of flirtatious breathy gasps.

Her eyes flutter and she leans forward, just a miniscule amount, enough, though, to tell him exactly what she's expecting him to do.

In that split second he realized what's happening, the exact moment her hand grabs his.

And then there's something warm wrapping around his wrist, and something jolts through him like an electric shock. He jerks away from her, stumbling back until he collides with a bulkhead.

His arm is still tingling and he glares down at it in shock. There on his right wrist is the leather cuff she'd been holding, a dull glow slowly fading into nothing. 

"Bloody hell woman, what is this!?" He claws at it with his hook, but no matter how hard he pulls it remains fixed on his wrist. The exclamation isn't lost on her; when he looks up at her, glaring daggers, she almost looks apologetic.

It doesn't last.

"It's just a precaution, Hook." Her shoulders lift into a shrug, but her heart doesn't look like it's behind it. "I don't trust you, and I can't afford to have you wandering around doing who knows what while I'm busy."

"Wandering around!? So what, does this keep me tied to the mast or something?" He gestures at her with the cuff and sneers his words. The anger is building inside of him, fury starting form in his mind. She's trying to trap him, damn her.

She looks taken aback by his anger, but then again, she doesn't exactly know why he loathes not being under his own control. She never let them have their little heart-to-heart, after all.

"No. It will just keep you nearby. And I'll be able to know where you are and call you to me. It's just as much for your own protection as it is everyone else's. People don't take kindly to you or your type." Her eyes are skittish, and she crosses her arms, and if he wasn't so damn _enraged_ he might pay more attention to why it is she looks so wary.

"Aye," he seethes, "And _you_ shouldn't take kindly to me now. I'm not your damned chattel to drag around as you please."

Finally she responds as he wants, her back straightening and her eyes narrowing. 

"You _are_ , actually. Do I have to remind you that I could have you walk off the deck of this ship into the ocean and not a single person would bat an eye? You're a pirate! Everyone on this crew has heard about you, and believe me, more than a few of them have already made it clear how they feel about you being onboard. I _know_ why you let yourself get caught, but you forget one thing, _Hook_ ," she hissed, her words raising in volume. " _You got caught_. And you're mine, whether you like it or not. So you'll wear that damned cuff and you'll avoid trouble and you'll damn well come when I call."

Her diatribe had brought her closer to him, and despite his desire to get away from her, there wasn't anywhere for him to go. Still, he leans forward, pressing into her space, completely ignoring the way the room seems to darken around them.

"I can handle anyone who wishes to have words or more with me, _your majesty_ , and I'm damn well _not_ coming when you call."

"It doesn't matter what you want. You don't have a choice. I'm the only one who can take that cuff off of you, and when I want something, you _will_ do it." 

She refuses to back down, her back ramrod straight as she glares at him. He should probably feel cowed, but he doesn't. Rage still clings to him and he doesn't want to shake it off. He's angry he ever thought she was intriguing, angry that she thinks she can drag him around like this as she pleases. Angry that he put himself in this situation. Perhaps even a little bit angry that even with how much he hates her he still knows she looks beautiful staring him down, daring to stand against him like nobody else has in a very long time.

The air simmers between them, and while he wishes he had a good reply, there isn't much he can say. Her point is abundantly clear, and he can feel it with every little pulse of magic that the accursed cuff gives off. 

Her eyes narrow one last time, and then she turns, walking back further into the room. Her hand falls on the open box of jewelry and she fingers something he can't see inside the box.

"I know you don't believe me, but it _is_ going to keep you safe. Where we're going isn't my kingdom, and they're not my subjects to command. If you get into trouble, I won't be able to save you," she says, and the words are unexpectedly soft, far softer than she has any right being. Her back is still to him, so he can't examine her face, try to pick out the sudden change in temperament.

He doesn't say anything, even though he wants to sneer at her and ask why she's so concerned with him staying safe. Whatever the answer is, he’s not sure he wants to hear it.

A long moment of silence passes, her apparently lost in thought, him unsure what to do next. He still doesn't know what he's supposed to be doing here, but he's not exactly sure if he should ask her. Instead he settles for something that might be a little safer.

"Where _are_ we going?"

Her whole demeanor changes, body loosening and relaxing. She turns, slightly, to face the box on her desk. A small smile flickers across her face before she speaks, but her words tell him that she's not really in the room with him anymore.

"Arendelle." 

She flicks her wrist in the direction of the door, and the bolt slides free, as good a dismissal as he's ever seen. And there isn't much left he can fight her about, especially not now that's she's buried in her own thoughts, miles away.

He makes his exit quietly, and it really only dawns on him as he pulls the door closed behind him that he still has no bloody clue as to what the hell he's supposed to be doing on this little trip.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back, hopefully! So sorry for the magnificent delay, I've had a rough year with my RL and computer issues, but I'm trying to ease back into writing and more :)

They make good time, considering the speed at which they're forced to travel. Arendelle is only a few days travel on a quick merchant ship, but she hasn't been allowed to travel like that since she was sixteen and free from all of this. Before The Evil Queen had returned, before the war, before _Henry_  and the darkness and then becoming queen herself. 

Now she's forced to travel like this, in her oversized royal frigate, surrounded by several of the navy's finest protection(as though she can't more than protect herself). It slows their pace to a crawl, and she's just grateful no storms had passed through on their trip. 

So they arrive in Arendelle only six days after leaving her palace, and the beautiful northern kingdom is a sight for sore eyes.  

Despite one of her lieutenant's warnings, she's on the deck when they pull into port, and one of the first people to step off the ship. She does love sailing, but an entire fleet full of people dedicated to serving her gets tiring, and she's eager to see her friends. 

The bustle of a crowd moves towards their ship, and there at the front is Anna. 

As soon as the girl sees her she lets out a small squeal and launches herself at Emma, much to the chagrin of watching officials from both of their entourages, but she could hardly care. She wraps her arms tight around Anna and laughs softly when she meets Kristoff's raised eyebrow over the young woman's shoulder. 

"Emma! It’s been so long, oh, there’s so much to tell you!” Her words trip over themselves in her hurry to get them out, and Emma can’t help but laugh. 

“Calm down, Anna. Take a deep breath.” 

The girl obliges, taking several deep breaths that do little to dull the sparkle in her eyes. 

“Elsa wanted to come, but she had a meeting that ran long and so she asked us to come instead, so here we are.” She nods her head to indicate Kristoff, who has his arms crossed and is still smiling softly at the two of them. 

When Emma had first found out that Anna was getting married she had been surprised, but then she’d met the man in question, and it all fell into place. He was good for Anna, good for the whole family who’d lost too much. 

The thought pangs at her chest, at her own losses and the happiness she hasn’t been able to find like Anna and Elsa have. But she covers it with a smile and takes the young woman’s hand. 

“Well, let’s go see your busy sister then.” 

A blinding grin lights up Anna’s face, and she tugs her away down the docks and up to the castle. 

\-------------------------------------- 

Elsa greets her with the same smile and an even tighter hug. The years melt away as they catch up, and Emma feels all of seventeen again, sent to her best friend’s castle to hide her growing _condition_.  

It’s not until they’re alone and the pleasantries are over with, the updates finished and done, that Elsa sets her cup of tea down and confronts Emma. 

She knows the minute her friend turns to her what she’s going to bring up, and she winces internally. 

“So. You brought Captain Hook, Emma.” 

It’s not disapproval that colors her friend’s face, but it’s close. 

“I didn’t have a choice. I couldn’t leave him alone back home; I would have come back to find half my kingdom missing. He's not going to do anything while he's here, I made sure of that.” 

She can tell by the look on the other woman's face she doesn't exactly disbelieve her, but it's a close thing. And they've been friends too long for her to put on the face she usually reserves for posturing with other royals, so she heaves a sigh and turns her mind inward.  

It hadn't been a lie when she'd told him what exactly the cuff would be used for, but she might have left out a few things. Like what the potion had originally been created for, or the side effects they would experience while he was wearing it. She was skilled enough to keep her own emotions at bay, but he wouldn't be, and she'd prepared for that when she had decided to use the cuff.  

His anger when she'd snapped it onto his wrist had nearly overwhelmed her, and against her conscious will she'd wanted to walk right over and take it off again. But it had to be done. 

Now she searches it out, the low-but-ever-present hum of someone else's mind. 

The quiet murmur of frustration mixed with curiosity is easy to find, and she follows the trail until she catches wisps of where he is. Somewhere off in the rooms on the other side of the castle. It's enough to cast the spell, bringing him to her. 

"Bloody fuck -" he's cursing when he appears, the words fading into silence as he realizes what happened. His gaze instantly falls on her, and the coolness in his eyes doesn't even compare to the fury radiating in her head. 

"Your majesty," he finally grits out through clenched teeth. "Is there something I can do for you?" 

He's all false politeness and posturing, but she can see the tightness in his stance and the set of his shoulders. Elsa notices it too, because out of the corner of her eye Emma sees her frown. 

"Just checking in on you," she replies, doing her very best to not sound unfeeling. She knows how he sees her, knows how much he hates his freedom being withheld like this. And she's not a monster, not like they say she is. Maybe once she would have wanted to be seen that way, at least by him, but she knows exactly how he feels now, and she can't help but empathize with the feeling of being trapped in a very pretty cage. 

He attempts, well, something, but it comes out as a grimace. His eyes flicker to Elsa, who is silently watching their exchange. 

"I'm fine. Are you going to introduce me to your friend?" 

She doesn't know what answer she was expecting, so she doesn't press. Instead, she turns to Elsa and gestures to each of them in turn. 

"Elsa, this is Killian Jones. Killian, this is Elsa, Queen of Arendelle." 

He drops into a quick mock-bow, a smirk flashing across his face. The end of his duster swishes across his pants as he straightens, and it's like a change has come across him. Gone is the outward anger; here he's all charm. Oh, she can still feel it directed at her, a nearly painful throbbing in her head, but he's all smiles for Elsa. 

"You probably know me by my more colorful moniker. Captain Hook at your service, your highness." 

The woman in question nods, as though to herself, and tilts her head at him. 

"I believe we've all heard of your...exploits, captain. In fact, Emma here was just assuring me that you would not be bringing any harm to my kingdom or its people," she says softly, but Emma's no stranger to the steel under her words. 

Neither is Killian, because his smile tightens and he nods his head quickly. 

"Aye, that'd be true. As I find myself without ship and crew, I'm afraid I'm quite harmless," he assures her, but his grin has turned razor sharp. Emma knows he's testing Elsa, trying to feel her out. She already knows what he's going to find, so she doesn't bother to interrupt. 

The queen's smile is supremely peaceful as she replies. "I doubt you're as harmless as you would claim, _Hook_ , but just remember, I don't take kindly to any sort of threat to myself or my kingdom."  

His smile remains frozen on his face, but his eyes track the small particles of snow that have appeared out of nowhere and swirl lazily around him. 

Finally, he clears his throat and nods again. "Of course. I would expect nothing less." His attention turns to Emma, and his entire demeanor subtly shifts. The smile returns to the grimace he'd worn earlier, and she doesn't miss the tone of his voice when he speaks to her. "Is that all, _Emma_?" 

Elsa remains silent and stone-faced, but Emma is sure she's going to have to explain that later. 

She opens her mouth to respond, but Elsa beats her to it. 

"There will be a ball tomorrow night, to celebrate our visitors. You should attend."  

Killian's mouth opens, but apparently he thinks better of it and switches tactics, another flourishing bow his response. "Who am I to refuse a royal invitation?" 

Elsa hums in response, and they both turn to Emma. 

"I'll have someone get you proper clothes and fetch you before it begins," she says slowly, still trying to process the wrench Elsa has thrown in her plans. Still, they're guests, and it's beyond impolite to refuse. Judging from the smirk on Killian's face, he's well aware of her reluctance.  

The smug satisfaction that lingers in the back of her mind is enough for her to add, "that will be all, Killian," and send him away in another flash of smoke. 

A spike of dissatisfaction echoes loudly from the connection, but she ignores it to turn back to Elsa. The other woman shrugs. 

"I'd rather have him where I can keep an eye on him than wandering the empty halls elsewhere." 

"I see," she replies, and she does, it makes sense. But it still bothers her. She had been hoping to be able to enjoy her time with her friends instead of worrying about him. He's become a headache for her to deal with, but she doesn't know what to do about it.  

As though she can read her thoughts, Elsa pipes up.  

"What are you planning on doing with him?" She asks, her words careful. Emma knows she's not being judged, that her friend is simply curious. 

"I don't know. He's too dangerous to keep for forever and just as dangerous to let go," she sighs, twisting the fabric of her dress around her finger. It marrs the beautiful embroidery briefly, but fidgeting is something her mother had never successfully trained out of her. 

"There's the third option, you know," Elsa replies, but she's already shaking her head. 

"No, I can't have him _killed_. What would that say about me?" 

"Uh, that you're a strong ruler who rights wrongs and brings justice to her people?" Her friend rolls her eyes when she opens her mouth to interrupt, but Elsa raises a hand and continues. "Emma, I grant you, he's charming, but he's not exactly subtle. Even if only half the stories are true, he's a pirate, and piracy is still a crime in both our kingdoms. I doubt even _other pirates_ would shed a tear for him." 

She doesn't have a good excuse, at least, not one that doesn't make her feel utterly weak. The look in his eyes when he'd told her _I understand_ still bothers her, as does the honesty she's caught glimpses of, honesty that speaks to a far different person from the stories. 

"I can't, Elsa. I haven't yet seen him do a single thing that would earn him his death. And yes, I know he could be putting on a show to save his skin, but there's more to him." 

She doesn't mention that a small-but-growing part of her wants to know what that more is, wants to find out whatever he's got hidden underneath all that leather and charm. But she already knows the effect he has on her, as though she can't control being pulled into his orbit. He's a mystery, and she's loved solving them for a long time. She's just not sure if he's worth it. 

Elsa sighs, but lets it go, and the conversation moves to more pleasant things, or, at the very least, things they actually need to discuss. But thoughts of the pirate still linger, as does the ever-present flicker of him at the back of her mind. 

\-------------------------------------- 

The grand hall is, simply put, beautiful. 

The decorations are tastefully done in the kingdom's main colors, blue and purple and all the shades in between hanging from the ornate rafters. Probably two hundred people mill in the hall, some dancing, others talking and drinking, but all dressed in bright finery. 

All eyes turn to her when she's announced, and she plasters on her best queenly smile as she waves and begins to descend the steps into the main room. Elsa and Anna are already there, sitting at their places at the grand table. There's a spot on the left side of Elsa that sits empty, so she makes her way to it, trying to ignore the eyes that follow her. 

She's used to it, for the most part, the way people watch her. Everyone's heard her story and think they know her life, and it's more than a little discomforting at times. Like right now. 

It was easier to bear their gazes when she didn't care about anything, but now that she's more or less embraced her role in life, it still stings. She's used to her own people who carry more pride than curiosity when they look at her. But these people, even in a friendly kingdom, even in the place she considers her second home, they look at her like they want to peel apart all her secrets. 

She sits down perhaps a little less ladylike than she should, and wishes she could grumble under her breath. But Elsa is already turning to speak to her so she bites her tongue. 

"I'm glad you could make it, they're about to drive me crazy" she whispers, her smile genuine and happy. On the opposite side of her, Anna and Kristoff are chatting and laughing, caught up in their own little world. It's enough to put a small smile on Emma's face. 

"I couldn't exactly not come, but I'm glad I can help." 

Elsa laughs a little and turns back to face the room. 

"I see your charming captain is here." 

Her remark is casual, but it's anything _but_ for Emma. She sweeps her eyes across the room, searching for the familiar dark leather. It's not until her eyes land on him that she remembers he's supposed to be dressed differently tonight. And he is indeed, a long tan coat the most obvious change. There are other differences, like a white shirt instead of a black one, but it does have the intended effect of altering his appearance and general look quite well. The dark tousled hair is still there, as is the smudges of dark khol around his eyes. The trademark smirk is still plastered on his face. 

Right now he's kissing the hand of some merrily dressed woman, and she doesn't have to hear or see it to know he's completely sweeping her away. She giggles and shakes her head, one hand not-so-subtly brushing across her chest. 

Emma rolls her eyes, perhaps a tad bit more dramatically than she intends. 

"Ah, yes. Already trying to weasel his way into a warm bed tonight." 

Elsa smiles politely, but her eyes glimmer with laughter. "I _know_ that's not jealousy, right?" When Emma is quiet, her friend turns entirely in her seat. "It's _not_ , right Emma?" 

"It's not," she finally affirms, but her eyes follow the pirate as he moves across the room, introducing himself to more and more women and their appropriately territorial husbands. "I'm not interested in him like that, Elsa. I haven't slept with him." 

The other queen hums, but Emma knows better than to think she actually believes her. 

It's true though. She's not jealous. If she wanted him, she could have him in a heartbeat. For all his bluster and his promise all those weeks ago when they'd first met, he really wouldn't have a choice now. Not that she would ever do that, least of all to him, but still. It's also true that she's not interested in him _like that_. She's not blind to his attractiveness, certainly, and she knows he would probably be entirely satisfying. But it's something else about him that draws her in, even though she knows better. 

So no, she doesn't want to fuck him, at least not any more than the average woman does, but she does want something from him. 

She's just not sure what it is yet. 

A spike of satisfaction trills in the back of her head, and she turns back to him. He's grinning at the back of some Duchess, his smirk a little more satisfied than usual. She watches with narrowed eyes as he slowly draws his hand towards his pocket and slips something inside of it. He runs his hook through his hair as a distraction and pulls his hand back, ready to approach the next mark. 

She didn't exactly expect better of him, but after both her warning and Elsa's she'd expected him to at least not be so _blatant_ about it. 

When she turns to Elsa, the woman isn't paying attention, her head turned towards her sister and brother in law. Either way, Emma would rather take care of it herself anyways, in fact. Hook is her problem anyways. She excuses herself quickly from the table, and when Elsa turns to her she simply tells her she's going to go mingle. Her friend's attention has drifted back to her family, so she nods absently. 

It doesn't even take a full minute for her to wind her way through the crowd to Hook, and he's just turning, probably setting out to find his next target, when she wraps her hand around his arm. 

To his credit, he doesn't stiffen or turn warily. Instead, the charm is cranked up to ten as he turns on her.  

His eyes harden as soon as they land on her, but the charming smile stays. 

"Ah, Emma. To what do I owe the pleasure, m'lady?" 

She's about to open her mouth to reply when someone brushes past her, a mumbled apology, and then the band strikes up. Quickly, she makes her decision. 

"I thought you would like to join me for a dance. That is, if pirates can dance." His lips quirk briefly, as though of their own accord, and he offers her his hand.  

"Of course I can dance. I may be a pirate, but I'm no barbarian." She bites her tongue to keep from spitting out how the two words would seem to be pretty similar, but he probably knows what she would say anyway. He pulls her with him until they're at the edge of the group of people dancing, and then pulls her even closer to him, hand wrapping around her waist. 

He offers his hook with a raised eyebrow, but she takes it without hesitation. 

She's not scared of one little appendage, especially when she can see that it's been dulled for the evening's festivities. 

They move in sync to the music, and she has to admit to herself that he's right; he can dance. The footwork is far from complicated, this dance a simple warm up before the night truly gets going, but from the way he has eyes only for her she knows he's merely going through well-rehearsed motions. 

He's the first to break the silence that has fallen over them, his voice surprisingly quiet over the sound of the music. 

"So what does a queen such as yourself desire with a lowly pirate like me? Surely you did not decide to grace me with your presence for merely a dance, as there are far more eligible men in the room for you to choose from." His raised eyebrow compliments the overly-ornate question, and she gets the sense that he's mocking her. 

She's never exactly been one to beat around the bush, and she's not about to start now. 

"I think you need to start returning valuables, Hook." 

His face is a mask of pure innocence, but she's smart enough to see the amusement in his eyes as he spins her in a delicate circle. 

"I have no idea what you mean," he says, but his eyes flicker away from hers for a split second. She didn't really need the confirmation, but it's nice to have it. His hand remains very still on her waist, carefully still, in fact, and she smiles. He's trying to avoid giving away a tell, trying very hard, in fact, and it might work on someone else, but not her. 

"I saw you. For a big bad pirate you're not very subtle."  

He scoffs instantly. "I'm very subtle, when I need to be, your highness." But his voice is pitched even lower, hanging in the air between them. She's caught him, and he knows it, and has no intention of revealing it to the rest of the room. 

"I know you're trying to evade the topic," she replies, just as quiet. "You're walking a fine line here. If Elsa finds out you're robbing people right under her nose, I won't be able to protect you." The music swells in the background, and he pulls her closer for one final dip, expertly executed. 

She takes the moment to slip her hand in his pocket, grabbing the first thing she finds. It's a ring, and the look on his face when she withdraws it for him to see is practically comical.  

He snatches it out of her hand as quickly as she'd pulled it out. "Leave me be, your majesty. I'm just trying to stay entertained," he finally murmurs quietly her. "How does a _queen_ even know how to pickpocket?" 

She ignores him; another dance is starting in the background, the couples around them either splitting up or returning to the floor. They hover on the very edge, her right hand still wrapped around his hook, his body still close enough for her to feel the warmth of it, and she makes a split second decision to pull him backwards into the dancefloor again. 

Almost automatically his arm comes up again around her and he begins to move, the steps to this dance more complicated, but he handles it with ease, holding her close when appropriate and then releasing her to move around her as the song progresses. The knowledge is rote, but he's graceful enough to make it look easy, not like a simple memorized set of steps. 

How someone such as himself knows any of this is still a mystery to her, and she's sure the curiosity in her eyes is mirrored in his own, because he answers the unspoken question. 

"This is far from my first ball, your highness. Do you have any intention of answering _my_ question, or are you simply trying to dance me to death? Why do you even care if the ice queen would punish me?" Any malice he may have had is gone, replaced with a weariness that echoes loud and clear. His face is blank, eyes slightly dull, and if she didn't know any better she'd say he was resigned to whatever would happen to him. It wasn't a good look on him, it wasn't a good look on _anyone_ , but it bothered her more on him than she'd like to say. 

 "You're one of my subjects, of course I care if you start an incident," she replies, knowing the words sound as hollow as they feel. 

"I'm your _prisoner_ ," he corrects, pressing his wrist pointedly against her back. "And now you're the one evading." 

He's got a point, as loathe as she is to admit it. 

"I wasn't always a queen, Hook. Once upon a time, I was actually a _princess_." 

He snorts at that, and sways her to the side, her skirts sweeping across the floor. They move deliberately through the dance, his steps perfectly in time with hers, and not for the first time she struggles to determine when and where a pirate could have learned such fince dancing skills. 

"I do believe I could have guessed that, your majesty," is his retort. 

Maybe it's something in the air, maybe it's the warmth of his hand at her back, maybe it's her own senses fleeing into the cool breeze that passes through the hall, but the story spills out of her all at once, as though her mouth has lost touch with her brain. 

"And when I was a princess, I didn't always do the things princesses are supposed to. Like drinking in taverns and meeting charming thieves."  

His eyes light up, electric at the revelation. A grin dances across his lips. 

"So I _am_ your type, then." 

An unladylike snort passes her lips. "Hardly. Unless you have a penchant for impregnating women and then disappearing when you discover who they really are." 

The amusement quickly disappears from his face, replaced by a frown. Surprisingly, though, it is not pity she sees, but an understanding that few have ever shown her. 

"I'm sorry for that, love. Nothing is less honorable than abandoning the mother of your child." 

"He didn't know I was with child, and it's in the past now. Besides, what does a pirate know about honor? I find it hard to believe that there are no children of yours running around the realms." His reaction is swift, and perhaps if she hadn't been caught up in the conversation, if she hadn't been careless, she would not have insulted him so, but his eyes darken. 

" _This_ pirate knows much of honor, Swan. _And_ measures to prevent such a thing from happening, unlike your foolish lover," he says, his voice gravely as he tosses the barb her way. She deserved it, perhaps, but she is finally coming back to herself, because she's starting to realize that she's revealed one of her greatest secrets to _Captain Hook_ of all people. The music is winding down, and with it her desire to continue the conversation any further. 

They speak no more, and the dance finishes. He bows and she curtsies, and they go their separate ways without a word. 

Emma spends the rest of the night with Elsa at the table, trying to ignore the stare she can feel burning into her, and the confusing emotions that fill the back of her mind. 

\-------------------------------------- 

After it's all finished, and she is out of her gown and the candles are extinguished, she can still feel him, lying awake just as she is. 

Thoughts clutter her mind, and the pulsing in the back of her mind that is his tumultuous thoughts only makes things worse. Talking about Neal had been a mistake; it had brought to mind her son, the moment she had first seen him, so incredibly tiny in her arms. How he had looked up at her curiously, his eyes so much like his father's. 

How long she had cried over her lost love before forcing it back and standing tall, taking solace in the fact that she at least had something, and he had nothing. 

How the news of Henry and her parent's deaths had seared her to the core, turning the whole world into darkness. 

It was too much, and while she hadn't truly cried since before she'd taken her revenge, before all her killing, the tears stung at her eyes. It didn't help that somewhere else in the castle, Hook was doing his own mourning, though of what she had no idea. The bond they shared because of her was practically forcing the sorrow down her throat, and she resented it, she did. But she could hardly command him to stop feeling, and she couldn't end the bond before they were back safe in Misthaven. 

A sleeping draught would solve the problem, and it might stop the loop of suffering, his amplifying hers and hers amplifying his over and over again. She had spent long enough wallowing in her own pain to know the spell by heart; she put the pieces together in her head, and closed her eyes, pushing it in the direction of him, along with a small note. 

Another small vial appeared in her hand, and she drank it without hesitation, hoping that sleep would follow soon. The connection began to dull and fade, though she wasn't sure if it was because she had drunk or he had, and soon it was no more than a quiet hum. Her own torturous thoughts began to slip away, and the last thing she remembered was the horror and shock on Regina's face as she'd vanquished not only the darkness, but the woman who had killed her family.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter with a lot of mulling and a lot of talking, but things will be getting a bit more interesting soon as we learn more about Emma's history, and what's to come for our favorite duo.

Killian woke slowly, light filtering into the room through the heavy curtains that concealed the window and balcony. The sun was barely up, but it was sufficient to illuminate his temporary quarters.

It was a fine room, far finer than anything he'd slept in before, but he paid it no mind.

All he could think about was the previous night; the glow of Emma's hair as they'd spun on the dancefloor, and the solemn look on her face when she'd revealed that small part of herself.

The sorrow that had followed him the rest of the night as he dwelled on all that he'd lost as well.

He wasn't a fool; in his short time back from Neverland, he'd heard no mention of the queen's son, and there was no prince at her palace, no child underfoot. And it completes one part of the puzzle that is Emma Swan. She wants a replacement for the child she'd lost. Perhaps not a direct replacement, but something to fill the void.

She'd been so angry when he'd brought it up with her the first time and voiced the pain he'd seen in her eyes, the desire for revenge, the _need_ to fill the swallowing void with something other than pain. It had been weeks ago, and while they'd softened marginally towards each other, he could hardly forget it.

While learning of her son had filled a small hole in his understanding of her, other aspects of her life had yawned into a gaping abyss, leaving him with more questions than answers.

Her gift to him last night had only left him more curious, and his eyes flickered to the note lying next to his bed. He'd half expected it to disappear as easily as it had arrived, but it was still solid in the morning light.

_Sleep often offers a respite from the troubles of our thoughts._

Simple writing spelled out her somewhat cryptic message, but for some reason he had still drunk the potion, some pull deep inside him urging him to sleep. It almost felt unnatural, but he knew if she truly was controlling him with more of her sorcery she wouldn't have sent a note at all.

It had been bitter going down (or perhaps it had been resentment), but he'd soon fallen into a dreamless sleep unlike any he'd had in...well, probably centuries.

And he had his captor to thank for it.

The more he struggled to understand Emma, the more she eluded him. She could be soft and feminine, but under it lurked pure steel, and someone not to be trifled with. Their relationship, if you could call it that, was also something he did not fully comprehend. She could be intimate and friendly, or snap at him in fury. While he knew he'd pushed her last night, he also still didn't fully understand why she had indulged him in the first place. And Captain Hook didn't like things he didn't understand. They were dangerous.

They shared a kindred spirit, and, if his hunch was anything to go by, a similar history as well, and there was something _more_ somewhere beneath it all.

But she was a queen, and an inscrutable one at that, and he was a pirate captain.

He did his best to put her out of his mind as he rose and got dressed. It was easier said than done, especially since his only other considerations for the day involved something she'd specifically forbid.

Not that he planned to listen to her, but still.

He hadn't been able to do much scouting the previous day, the castle had been crawling with people preparing for the ball, and he could hardly find himself alone long enough to truly evaluate anything. Now there would be fewer people, and hopefully most would still be in bed at this hour, sleeping off the previous night's festivities.

There was a closet with clothes in his approximate size, apparently provided by the queen, but he preferred to stick to what he was comfortable with, donning the black leather that by now was one of his signature elements, along with the hook. The familiarity it gave, to be back in his own heavy greatcoat, could not be understated. Besides, this far north, even with winter fading away it was still chilly enough to need a coat.

He was marginally surprised when he slipped out of his room to discover an empty hall; he was completely unguarded. Whether overconfidence or a simple oversight, it was not a gift he planned to let go unappreciated.

This palace was different from the one he'd spent the past month in; where Misthaven had been light-filled and airy, Arendelle was much more solid, almost ominous if it wasn't for the colorful tapestries that filled the halls. He knew it had more to do with the kingdom's northern climate and the importance of not freezing to death in the winters, but it was nearly suffocating to someone who had spent their entire life at sea.

Not to mention, everything looked the same; the different stories that covered the walls were the only way to know where you even were in the castle, one hall followed by another. It was nearly impossible to orient oneself, and as he had thought, there were few people moving through the castle. Occasionally he would see a servant, but they all paid him no heed, as though he didn't even exist.

The morning passed slowly as he wandered from place to place; he eventually discovered the courtyard, but abandoned it when merchants started arriving.

There seemed to be little rhyme or reason to the layout of the castle, at least to his eyes, but he does learn where the kitchen is and the servant's quarters are in his explorations. The grand hall he is familiar with already from last night, and it had been some of his first explorations. No matter how much he wanders, there seems to be nothing more than what he sees, no hidden corridors that lead to dark halls and no grand guarded doorways hiding riches beyond.

It feels oddly personal, he thinks, after finding his way back to his room. An affront to his very piratical core that he has had such poor luck sussing out any weak points or tucked away treasures. He eases himself into the room, closing the door gently. There's a platter of food sitting on the table tucked into a corner that hadn't been there when he left. At the sight of it, his stomach grumbles and he's reminded of the fact that it is nearing midday and he still hasn't eaten.

The food is cold, but still the fare of royalty and far better than anything he would normally consume, even back at Emma's palace. He wonders what the staff here have been told; it's rather hard to hide his Hook, and he knows his reputation has spread this far, but he has seen nary a sign that anyone considers him anything but Emma's guest, and an esteemed one at that.

It's unnerving. But, ever the adaptable man, he will make do. There has been little benefit in terrifying these people, and while his inner pirate chafes at the idea, he doesn't necessarily want to cause trouble for himself or Emma in this foreign place.

That being said, he has managed to waste a morning doing something he'd been instructed not to do (not that it could be proven) and now has no clue what to do. His room is simple enough that it contains little to draw his attention, and he had not even been able to find a library in his excursions. Surely there was one, but for the life of him he couldn't find it. That, and anything else of import.

He's debating shining the leather of his coat or perhaps filing his hook when a knock sounds at the door and it creaks open.

A young woman stands there, her head tilted at a peculiar angle as she scrutinizes him. Her red hair is pulled back in a braid and he dress is simple, but he recognizes her from the night before. She's the queen's sister, Princess Anna.

"Your highness," he greets with a small bow, and the woman in question huffs, putting her hands on her hips.

"You're not really _that_ charming," she muses, almost as though to herself, before shaking her head. "I don't know _what_ Emma sees in you."

That makes him curious; he quirks his brow and flashes her a dazzling smile, which seems to have very little effect.

"The queen speaks about me?"

The princess rolls her eyes and leans against the door, ignoring his attempts.

"Everyone talks about you; you're the second most interesting thing to happen here in ages." A shrug follows the words. "We don't get much excitement up north, and you have half the ladies in the castle in a tizzy. All 'charming pirate' this, and 'dashing rapscallion' that, but I just don't see it."

"Well then," he replies, filing away that bit of information for later, "I shall have to endeavor to prove my reputation to you, princess."

She laughs at him, straight to his face, and shakes her head. "I'm married, pirate. And I'm supposed to be taking you to see Emma anyways." She straightens off the door and beckons down the hall. "She's requested your company for lunch in her study."

That gets his attention. The princess playing fetch for him? It doesn't make sense, and he says so as they turn down corridors he could have sworn weren't there an hour ago.

Anna shrugs and a mischievous glint appears in her eye. "I might have intercepted who she really sent to get you. Like I said, you're the most interesting thing to happen in a while."

He chuckles, but as they wind their way through the castle he begins to feel a sense of nagging doubt. The tapestries they pass are all unfamiliar, and he's certain he never came this way in all his roaming, and yet he was sure he'd been across the castle. It had been hours he'd spent exploring, and he'd walked by the same rooms and halls enough to know that he hadn't seen _any_ of this.

He's beginning to wonder if there was something else in that sleeping potion, because he knows his sense of direction is better than this. Perhaps if he were a gentleman, he would engage with the princess, but there's a rock settling in his stomach and he doesn't have the heart for it. Thankfully, she carries on some semblance of a one-sided conversation, talking about the history of the castle and how she had raced around the rooms and halls as a girl.

They finally arrive at their destination, apparently, because she falls silent when they reach a set of doors, and tosses him a cheerful goodbye before practically skipping away. He misses most of it, still lost in his head, but as he reaches for the door handle he resolves to speak to Emma about what's bothering him, and to get to the bottom of it. She hasn't lied to him, not outright, despite her crimes against him, and he feels that she would not lie here, either.

He eases into the room, and takes in the small room with one wall covered with a tall bookshelf. There's a fire quietly crackling in the fireplace across from the books, and a large desk nestled against the wall under a window. Two high-backed chairs sit closer to the fire, a low table between them covered with a set of platters that resemble what he'd found in his room earlier.

It's from one of these chairs, the one facing away from him, that Emma's voice comes.

"Come sit with me, Captain," she says, a hand appearing around the corner to gesture at the other empty chair. He obliges her, sitting across the table from her, sinking into the plush chair, but he hardly notices its softness.

It takes a very strong effort on his part not to gasp when he gets his first good look at her.

Her hair is soft and wavy, glimmering in the firelight as it frames her face and lays across her breast. The simple turquoise gown brings out her eyes and gently fans out from her waist and down her legs, revealing a hint of curves, but no more. Her face holds a contemplative look, and her eyes are trained on the fire, but it does nothing to hinder her beauty. To be frank, she looks like a vision, maybe even more alluring than the first time he set his eyes on her, the day she'd tried to seduce his submission from him. 

It unnerves him in one fatal swoop, and when she turns to look at him there's a flicker of a smile, as though she can read his thoughts. Maybe she can, for all he knows; maybe his entire soul is laid bare for this woman to pick through as she pleases.

He shakes away the thought, willing himself to focus, to bring to bear his not-unimpressive charm. He tries to think of his purpose, his ultimate goal, but the face of the crocodile is replaced with the fearful face of the villager who had trembled under his hook when he'd told the story of the murdered Dark One. It feels very hollow, all of a sudden, everything he does. The ache that burns in his heart expands, the sorrow flooding the back of his mind without his consent.

"Did you have a good night?"

Her voice wrenches him out of his mind, and he startles, turning her. There's a grimace fading from her lips, but he struggles to focus on what she'd said.

"Ah, yes, thank you," he finally replies, ducking his head slightly and trying to find his mental footing. He needs to focus; every conversation with Emma is practically a battle of wills, and leaves him exhausted after; he cannot afford to be losing his head now. His eyes are drawn to the book on her lap, a thick rectangular tome with gold detail framing the ostentatious title. Like a story of fairy tales, except this one clearly meant something to the queen, as her knuckles were white from gripping the book.

She clears her throat and he looks up, realizing he'd been staring. An apology dances to the front of his mind, the long-ago impressed need for politeness rearing its head before he stamps it down. He smirks instead, forcing himself down a different path.

A sigh flutters from her lips, and she sets the book down on the table, reaching instead of the goblet of wine that accompanies each of their meals. She takes more than a healthy sip and sets it down again before speaking.

"How was your walk this morning?"

His eyes widen at her knowledge, and now it's her turn to smirk. Gods, will he _ever_ stop being surprised by this woman?

 "It was perfectly fine, if a bit...boring," he finally said, weighing his words. She snorted, not even bothering to cover it up.

"Yes, I'd imagine so," she knowingly replied, before quickly gesturing to his plate. "Eat, and then I want to talk.

He was the kind of man who didn't have to be told twice, and so he did, digging into the slightly unfamiliar food. It hadn't been that long ago that he'd finished the food from his room, but he's spent enough of his life going without to know to take advantage when there is plenty.

She watches him silently, her own meal similar to his but eaten at a slightly more sedate pace, though there was no reprimand for his hurry, not like there would have been had his brother or even Milah been here. The thought made his fist clench around the dining ware, but he fought down the anger, twisting it and stuffing it down until he could properly address it.

The room is silent except for the sound of silver and the cracking in the fireplace, but he feels her eyes on him the entire time.

Finally, she leans back in her chair, their meal finished, and places her hands in her lap. She twists a ring around her finger, a nervous habit, he's sure.

"Do you know the story of how Elsa came to be queen?" Her voice is soft, not accusatory, and he shakes his head.

"No. I'd been away for...a long time. Arendelle is so far north I hadn't heard much in the months we'd been back."

Emma nods, as though she'd been expecting that answer.

"I thought so. Not too many years after I returned home, Elsa's parents were lost at sea and she inherited the throne from them. But it was far from simple. Elsa is special, like me. She can control the weather, bring ice and snow. Back then it was unpredictable, and I regret that I couldn't have been here to help her. We didn't even receive word of what had happened until after, but the whole kingdom suffered and would have been lost to an outsider if she and her sister hadn't been able to learn to control it. With that control came new power, and a new level of respect from her neighbors and her subjects.

"As I'm sure you can imagine, in the years since, her magic has only grown, and so has her control. That's why everyone last night was in such a good mood. This kingdom is very uniquely protected. Their friends love them and their enemies stay far enough away that they haven't had trouble in a very long time. Because of that, they can be...well, perhaps too curious, too trusting. But Elsa is not afraid to defend herself, or her people, or her kingdom and its treasures, from anyone who would seek to take advantage of them. I've seen it myself, and her brand of justice is swift and _memorable_."

Her message is far from subtle, but it explains much of what he's seen here. The queen's friendly but cool persona, her sister's bubbly enthusiasm and seeming naivety, and Emma's concern for his actions. It also sheds light on his fruitless morning.

"You're the reason I was stuck in an endless loop this morning, aren't you?" The accusation carries little weight, merely a raised brow, and as expected, she nods.

"I couldn't risk you being found by guards and sent directly to the queen," she explains a light shrug of her shoulders, far too nonchalant for his taste. His mouth feels bitter with the raising ire. "I've told you this before, I'm trying to protect you."

"Aye," he sneers, without thinking, "protection is a lovely gilded cage, complete with cuff and chain, isn't it? Better to have me wandering in circles like a madman than ruin your pretty little friendship."

Anger flashes in Emma's eyes, and her hands close around the arms of the chair.

"I'm _protecting you_ , you idiot! I just told you what could happen to you if you step too far out of line here, and you're nothing to them except a shiny bauble, one that could be easily destroyed." Her voice raises slightly, and the flame in the fireplace goes with it, a reminder that Elsa isn't the only dangerous queen. But it's interesting; her eyes flicker to the fire and the wind seems to go out of her sails. She slouches back against the chair, anger gone. "I swear, I'm not trying to hurt you, I'm not trying to control you, I just want to keep you safe."

Her earnest words settle into the room, and he mulls them over. It's a rational thing, for sure. If he had any value to her, that is. That's the problem, though. He doesn't know _what_ value he holds for her, why she really brought him, why she protects him, why she indulges him. Why she keeps him and doesn't kill him, why she keeps drawing him into her orbit only to fling him away when he touches a nerve.

So, he does what he's always been known to do, and opens his mouth.

"Why?" She blinks, and he stumbles forward. "Why do you care what happens to me? Why does _any_ of this matter? Why did you bring me? Why haven't _you_ killed me yourself? Surely it wouldn't be that hard. One flick of your wrist and you could snap my neck, another and I'd be so much dust. So why don't you? Why do you care enough to protect a bloody _pirate!_?"

After his outburst, the room grows deathly quiet. Even the fire has ceased to make the slightest of sound, perhaps cowed by the very real power that sits across from him.

Emma looks...sad. Contemplative. A million different things. He almost regrets saying anything, but he won't back down. His life has been turned upside down because of her; the least she can do is give him an answer.

He watches her carefully as she flexes her fingers, stretching them out and curling them back again, one hand going to fiddle with her ring. The silence stretches on, but he refuses to break.

"I don't know," finally, she says, her voice just above a whisper. "I don't _know_ why I care. I just know that something is different about you." She squints at him, as though trying to pick him apart, as though he is hiding a secret from her instead of the other way around. "I just know I can't let you go until I figure it out, until I figure out _why_ you're so different."

The world feels hazy all of a sudden, and sadness seems to flood the air like a static charge. He feels like he's been punched. Her words swirl around him, lifting him and taking him back in time to another sad woman who'd told him he was different, and special, and she desperately wanted to see the world with him. Sorrow floods him suddenly, and he vaguely feels himself sag against the chair as his own story plays out in his head as he is once again an unwilling participant in his memories.

Across from him Emma gasps, but he can hardly hear it over the blood rushing in his ears as he watches the crocodile crush Milah's heart in his hand, turning it to dust and ashes as the woman he loves dies in front of him. She'd been special too, been different from every bar wench that had come before her, and he had never known why, only that he loved her with every fiber of his being and he had fought so hard for vengeance for her, only for it to slip away and he didn't know why that had happened either. If only he had been smarter, been faster. He can see himself holding the Dark One's dagger in his mind's eye, can see it pierce flesh, can feel the crocodile's hot black blood spilling across his hand and staining the carpet in this ornate room. Wind begins to drown out the sound of the Crocodile's wheezing, cackling laugh, and abruptly he is jerked back to the room in front of the fire, and Emma is staring at him openly, her jaw hanging slightly open and her eyes widened in shock.

Abruptly, it all comes crashing down on him.

" _You_ , you were in my head!" He thunders, slamming his hook into the fabric of his chair. It rips satisfyingly under the sharp metal, but does little to quell his anger. "Gods be damned, woman. Stay out of my memories!"

She makes no move to deny him, still rooted in the same position, her eyes blinking slowly as though she's waking up from a dream. It doesn't matter, though, because he _knows_.

Once again, he's been robbed of something, his most private memories ripped from his mind like another storybook for her to flip through. He feels ready to boil over. If she were anyone else she would already have his hook buried in her stomach, but he is utterly powerless against her and the knowledge stays his hand and boils his gut. Waves of helplessness crash against his anger, but nothing can stop what she's unleashed, and he rises from the chair, knocking it over with his forcefulness as he storms from the room, slamming the door behind him.

He's too angry to notice the memory that wasn't his and the way Emma sags when he leaves, chaotic sparks nearly overrunning the fireplace.


End file.
